Dragons and Motherhood

I am so tired tonight. 

Do you ever look at your mothering and feel like gagging? Because you think you are doing a darned crappy job? I do. How could I possibly be given the honor of raising these three little beings down the hall from me, softly snoring through closed eyelids dreaming of smiling kitty cats and ice cream Sundays? Kids who want only seamless shirts, waffles and whipped cream to make them happy. Their innocence scares me sometimes, and I wonder if I’m strong enough and good enough to lead them to adulthood.

The amount that my precious three rely on my health and stability is daunting on nights like tonight. I feel unorganized, exhausted and selfish. Things have been hard at my house… Job stress, school stress, home stress, money stress. I mean, I just want to go eat some cookies, stay up late working on my novel, and then fall asleep in my clothes. I want to sleep in, eventually wake in the morning when I feel hungry, roll out of bed, have a cup of tea alone, and be a selfish brat. But I have the honor of being a mom and a wife...being something better than my very worst self, and so there is no room for lazy brattiness. Plus a great thing happened to me this morning which has caused me to stay up later than I should, so that I can share it with you...

Last night I slept on the couch with my husband because my oldest son fell asleep in our giant king-sized bed. Right in the middle. We didn’t have the heart to move him, since generally he has sleep trouble, so we retreated to the sectional next to the dwindling fire downstairs. A substitute bed. Kind of romantic, but really just the result of pure exhaustion. It was OK. We got to be together, quietly for a little while.

So this morning I woke halfway, wondering where I was, and in the darkness I heard whispers of tiny voices followed by a pitter-patter of feet coming down the stairs. “Why are they here? What are they doing?” tinkled the tiny voice of my 6-year-old girl.

“I don’t know. Maybe they were just tired. Should we wake them up?" my 8-year-old replied. At least, that is what I remember him saying, since my eyes were still sealed shut, under a large fluffy blanket. I was half-fantasizing that they would return to their beds and go back to sleep.

And then I felt it. I felt my daughter’s thin pencil arms embracing me. They could only reach halfway around my top half. I thought about how she had enough goodness in her to want to quietly hug a smelly mom sleeping on a couch, and part of me felt completely confused about how it could be true. Could a tired lump like me deserve such grace? Her gentle breathing in my hair felt perfect enough to last a lifetime. The heaviness in my head, and the weight of all my limbs departed. The problems of the days, weeks, and months flew up the chimney, disappearing into the night sky. An unsolicited morning hug from my little girl had started my day and ignited my hope for all of the possibilities that lay ahead. Maybe I could be a good mom, after all. Her soft voice in my ear whispered something about breakfast and a special fort that I must see at 6:00AM. I asked her if we could just hang out for a bit and chat.

We lay there and talked about whether dragons really can fly and if I’ve actually seen a real dragon. Was it striped or polka dot? Did it have wings? Did I ride on it, or is riding on dragons just a made-up idea?

That was it. So simple, but really, really big. Big as a dragon. I was a tired mom with little motivation to care, to do anything very good. But my child lifted me up. She showed me the enormous opportunity I have to connect with her and my boys in ways richer and more beautiful than any parenting book could ever illustrate. I just listened, I felt, and the blessing of motherhood took over.